Dishonored 3 Prologue: Children of the Chasm
by Crestfallen Ogress
Summary: Flawed individuals flung from their world into a new awakening, under the watchful eye of a nonchalant goddess. They shall not find peace. In its stead, they shall find a wicked game. But for any game, every player must first begin.
1. Vera Moray (I)

**_60AGW (Year 60 after the Great War)_**

* * *

 _Dark._

 _Grey._

 _Light._

 _Unreality._

 _Woman._

 _Black eyes._

 _Hand._

 _Reach._

 _So._

 _Much._

 _Light._

 _Wake up, Vera Moray._

I woke up with a cold sweat.

A blast of faint light flooded my senses.

The unthinkable occurred. Color. Shape. Dimension. Depth. I have my eyes again. It can't be. I went blind years ago! Never would I dream to walk among the world, gracing its beauty again.

Stop.

Stop panicking.

Look around.

I scanned my surroundings. A small but comfortable room with plain decors. An oil lantern, its wick alight with flickering flame, enlightened the room with a ghostly hue. A cottage in the countryside? The tall grass sways hypnotically to the soft wind. A sight so pretty I have not seen since the days at Morley with my hus…

No.

Preston.

I remember now.

When we were flung out of the high society, I was angry. Very angry. Not sound of mind. And sightless.

Preston, through everything, tried to comfort me. Console me.

I didn't listen. I was angry. The Outsider – that rat bastard – whispered in my ear.

With his accursed words, I did the unspeakable.

My hands balled into fists.

I wailed.

I cried.

I regretted.

I mourned.

Through my tears, I accepted the truth.

With these hands I killed him. My husband. The man I now realized truly loved me.

With that heinous act, I have buried Vera Moray.

And entered Granny Rags.

My hands loosened.

I looked down. My clothes seemed strange. A simple dress and tunic shirt. I edged to the side of the bed and stood up. The floorboards creak under my weight. Strangely, every step I take is no longer slow and crooked with fatigue, but strong, healthy strides. A tall mirror stood at the corner of the room.

With my curiosity besting my fears, I looked in.

No.

It can't be.

It's impossible.

In the mirror stared back young, beautiful forlorn maiden Vera Dubhghoill.

…

No.

No.

I am young again. Beautiful again. I felt as if all the world's clocks had been forcefully turned back.

Back to a time where young Morleyan nobles used to fight amongst each other over me, to a time where I had respectfully turned down Emperor Alexy.

Long, curly tresses of black hair curl down my youthful features, marked distinctively with coffee-colored eyes. All traces of wrinkles have disappeared. My voice, even in my head, was smooth and lulling, compared to the crusty haggardry of my old self. I felt as if I was 17 again – maybe it was true.

There was only one way to explain this…

A miracle.

I stumbled backwards, and fell on my backside gingerly on the bed. With my mind clear and lucid, I began to contemplate my unfathomable luck. My last thoughts were of Corvo and Slackjaw running me through. But now, I'm here. How…?

How?

How?

"My dear, you don't look half as bad as I thought."

I cringed in perpetual fear as I frantically swung my head around, trying to find the speaker. All these years, listening to the hyper-sopranoic voices of rats in my head and the occasional monotone of the Outsider had left me paranoid at the voices of the living.

"Who's there?" I questioned the voice, where ever it came from.

"Turn your head, my girl."

I did.

A woman sat on a chair near my bed. She was perhaps as young as I, with a face carved from an Old Serkonoan statue and dressed with an amused expression. Dull brown bracers covered her forearms. Her blonde hair was down, with a small bun and the bangs mostly tied back. She wore a long dress with a high collar and and a high-waisted white skirt, done in with a purple sash. Her most striking features are her eyes. They were inky black, the blackest I've ever seen since…

No.

It's can't be.

"O…Out…Outsider…?" I dared ask.

"Yes."

"H…How?"

"You mean how did I get here or how am I the Outsider?"

"…"

"Oh, right, sorry. It's a long story. But I suppose we have time. The people who live here? Would be a while for them to get back."

I gathered all my courage into a question.

"Where is the Outsider?"

"What?"

"Where. Is. He?"

The woman inquisitively place her head on one hand.

"Oh, you mean the thin boy? I'm afraid he's retired."

"What. Do you mean. Retired."

The woman's expression subtly turned somber.

"He was freed. I do not know how or why, but he was emancipated from his duties as the Outsider."

My shoulders slump. She notices.

"Don't you know? Don't you know how we came to be?"

"…No."

She leaned back and reclined on her chair.

"He, like I, were sacrificed. By those who wished to curry the Void's favor."

I shook silently at the revelation.

"Many cults were formed in awe of the Void, but none managed harvest its power. Soon, they united out of a single cause: to siphon power from the Void and unlock its secrets. And they found out how. In order for the Void to listen to their pleas and offer them its gifts, it must have a figurehead. A being of sentience. A deity. In order to perform the ritual, certain conditions were met. They picked a time when the blood eclipse would align with the earth, to witness a miracle. Be it a grasshopper mass swarm or a fish rain. Then, a random urchin was picked off the streets. With his fingers adorned with rings and drugged out of his mind, he was strung over the ceremonial table and killed with a special knife."

If I had been skeptical, I am now completely mortified. A god, tailor made to offer a cult powers beyond their knowledge and understanding? But, mankind, trying to find a way to harvest such a enigma as the Void? I would never put it past them.

"The knife severed his name from humanity's subconscious and molded it into a mark, as he merged in part with the Void. His physical body lay trapped within the Void, as his astral projection was formed into the being you once knew as the Outsider. But, recently, he was somehow freed."

I stood up, in apprehension.

"How?"

She waved her hand.

"Easy, easy there. I'm the one with the facts here."

I quickly fell quiet.

"Someone stole the ceremonial knife and somehow made their way to the ritual hold. Freedom ensued."

I lowered my head in disbelief. The Outsider – no, an Outsider – can be made, and _unmade_? Granny Rags hath misplaced her faith.

"But how did you…"

"I was chosen next for the role. But from your world, they chose me across the barriers between worlds. They ripped me from this world, one that has yet to learn of the Void, into theirs."

This world? Into another? Barrier between worlds? Not knowing of the Void? What did she mean?

"I thought we are in the only world. Where the Empire still stands."

She let out a shrill chuckle.

"Wrong. YOU are no longer in the Isles. You have been transversed into another world. You are now in my former world, approximately 6000 years after my ascension."

* * *

 **Note: The Salem shown here is pre-corruption Salem as revealed in V6E4 of RWBY. Vera Moray's maiden name before her marriage to Preston Moray was Dubhghoill.**


	2. Vera Moray (II)

Another… world…?

My head is spinning wildly. One crushing revelation after another renders one's suspension of disbelief numb from exposure.

Snapping of fingers.

I turn to see the new Outsider looking at me puzzlingly.

"My dear Vera, you are spacing."

I hold my spinning head.

"I'm sorry. All of this is incredibly… overwhelming to me."

She smiles, perhaps in sympathy.

"Don't be. A human's initial reaction to the cosmic horror that is the truth always ends up like that."

She turns away, as if in thought.

"Oh yes, where was I? Ah yes, the part where you're no longer in the world of the Isles."

I shuddered. Was it true?

"Your soul has been pulled by an unknown force from the Void and your flesh and bones restored with transmutated Void matter. It dropped you here – in my world."

"The Void… how can it connect to another world when it is strictly parallel to ours?" I asked, gripped by my own palpable curiosity.

"It was never parallel to yours. It surrounds your world, deforming space and forming hollows where too much Void space seeps in." She was absorbed in thought.

"It reached this world, about 6000 years ago. Around that time, I was whisked away."

After she had finished, I felt… homesick? Never have I begun to miss the dreary mists of Morley, having my rare happy moments with Preston. Our times at sea… before it all went to hell.

"It is always most touching to watch a human's agony upon unearthing unkind truths. It's like eating the forbidden fruit – bitter but enlightening."

I look up from my hands. My eyes burned with unexpected fury.

"You don't know what it's like. To find out that the Empire's eternal bogeyman, who I once revered all my unsound-minded life is merely a functionary vessel for power-hungry maniacs? To lose everything, go mad for years, die agonizingly and suddenly wake up in this brave new world without prior knowledge or consent? YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE!"

She did not have even a hint of surprise on her face. But a faint chord, it seems, has been struck within her.

"You're right, I don't. And at this rate, I never will." Her black eyes show a faint betrayal of her stony exterior. "6000 years of suspension has numbed me to all possible relations to human emotion. What an alien I am now. All I have left is my blackening sense of humor and my stillborn sympathy. Ironic, isn't it. "

I slowly sank into the corner of the bed.

"But you were not conscious. You were lost. Trapped in your own head. Whatever Granny Rags was and what she did, was and is her doing. "

I sat there, in a deafening silence.

Absorbing what she said.

All of what I did, now with my mind sound, crashed again unto me with bouldering intensity. All the people I've killed as Granny Rags… I should've been left rotting in the Void forever. Even if I wasn't truly her.

How is it that I am here? What is my continued purpose?

My hung head lowered further.

"Dear," said the Outsider as she approached the bed, "You have braved insanity and came out unscathed. What's done is done. But what will be done _must be done_." Her voice became stone cold. "Give me your hand."

I did.

She put my left hand between hers.

Suddenly, I feel…

…cold.

As if the Void was encircling me, like sharks to their unfortunate prey.

A feeling, just like…

…when I first encountered _him_ in Pandyssia.

I jerked back my hand with sudden force.

As I looked at it, I understood why.

And I feared it, again.

On my left hand, bore the new Outsider's Mark.

I looked upon it again.

The Outsider's mark.

One that offered me few gifts, and granted me nothing more than madness and despair.

But it was not the same mark.

A singular eye, surrounded by a compass' dial and orienters. In its downwardmost corner, five feather-like diamonds form the décor.

It was… hauntingly beautiful.

Why do cursed things always catch my eye?

As I slowly looked up, all I can manage was a weak query.

"Why?"

She stared straight into my soul.

"This, dear Vera, can be anything to you. It can be a tool. It can represent many things you hope for and at the same time, despise. But I can't tell you what those things are. They are for you to deduce."

She abruptly stood up and slowly headed for the door.

"Use it in whatever way you wish. Make choices, own up to them. It is only to you they will matter, long or short run."

"The farmboy's coming back. Give him a warm welcome. Just watch out for the father. He's quite the handful."

She cranes her head my direction.

"Either way, I expect a good show."

She vanishes.

* * *

 **Note: The new Outsider's Mark is Salem's original emblem from RWBY.**


	3. Vera Moray (III)

I am alone.

Again.

I stare into my hand.

The Mark.

It can be anything I want.

Nothing I could ever want can absolve me of Granny Rags. Or her mad cruelty.

And Vera Dubhghoill, later Moray?

She was too kind. Too kind for the old world, perhaps for this one too.

But not for long.

If I'm ever going to survive in this place, I must be both. The Mark shall serve me, in bringing about destruction to those who stand against me…

…and protection to what I shall hold dear.

A disjointed flurry of mechanical commotion from afar disrupts my thoughts.

I hear the low hum of a slowing vehicle's engines approaches.

I can only watch as the dark mass, its existence marked by the intense shine of its headlights, stop in front of the small house.

The door's hinges creak, before resounding with the clicking of its lockset.

Footsteps slowly traverse across the floorboards and rhymatically up the stairs.

I sat in trepidation.

My bedroom door opens… slightly.

A timid, adolescent voice spoke through the crack.

"Miss, are you awake?"

I was tempted not to answer, but I did anyway.

"Yes."

"Do you need anything?"

"No."

"If you need anything, just call and I'll come up."

He hurriedly closes the door, only to open it again.

"My name's Dan, by the way."

I laid down again as he closed the door again. How will I explain to him? Can he ever believe me? Better a white lie than an unconventional reality.

With the silence of the room becoming harder to bear, my mind began swirling with questions.

Does this world worship, or despise the Outsider?

Those who bear the mark – the Outsider's brand – were they hunted down to the last or were they revered as avatars of the Dead God?

Between the rejection and acceptance of the Void lies a subject. It is called Mankind.

Where ever Mankind should sway, so should my destiny.

For better or for worse.

Regardless, I will survive.

Nothing this world can do to me hadn't been done already.

If I am to survive, I must relearn how to use my abilities.

I must begin.

With my mark glowing brilliantly with mana, I focused.

Form the ability you wish in your head…

…and transpose it onto reality!

 _Rashu grhaya…_

Bend Time.

Time slows to a crawl. The world greys in response.

Oh, how I've missed this.

I peered out of the window.

All flora near the house have ceased even their slightest movements.

Far away, a windmill, having long spun to supply my current home with power, found itself stopping short of its continuous intervals.

I moved to the side of the bed and stood up.

A second, elliptic mirror lay hung on the door's far side part of the wall. A dressing table lay just underneath it. On it, I saw the faint amberish shine of painted ivory.

I approach it.

A switchblade knife!

Yes! This could be useful.

I returned to my bed as the atmosphere regains its color, an indication that time has continued its flow.

I lay down, with the switchblade hidden underneath my pillow.

It won't be long until…

Knock.

Knock.

Soft knocks distract me from my swirling thoughts.

"Can I come in? I made some soup for you."

"It's OK. I'm not hungry… but come in."

The young man shuffled in awkwardly, tray in hand. The soup… actually smells good. He moved the chair with one hand next to me, and sat down. The tray is set on the bedside table.

What ensued was a strange, awkward silence.

"So, uh… how are you?" Dan was the first to break the ice.

"Oh no, I'm…fine." I sputtered back. In my youth, being led to the rich snobs' wine parties by my mother, I was terribly shy. Days I do not miss.

"What's your name?"

I stiffened in realization. I haven't told him my name yet!

"Vera. Vera Moray." The words come out before I can even contemplate an answer.

Even in the next life, I couldn't leave Preston alone.

"By the way, where am I now?"

"In my house, on the side of Thornberry Hill overlooking the bay."

I tilt my head. Although I had been briefed by the Outsider on my predicament, I still felt unfamiliar with the locations.

"I do not know these places."

"That's… a given. I figured. Considering I… kind of found you on top of the hill while I was out chopping wood. Naked, somehow."

I recoiled in shock and anger.

"No, no, no, no, no! I didn't do anything I… I swear! I ran back and got a towel to cover you! I didn't even look at you! Not even once! I mean it!"

I haven't stopped shaking. So many lusted after me in my maiden days. Some got close. VERY close. And to think…

Calm.

Calm down.

Calm yourself.

He's not like them.

He's not.

"After I carried you back to the house, I got you clothes. They're my ma's. Pretty lucky they fit."

I have little to say on the matter other than the fact that I was lucky. Luckier than most.

"Will your mother be coming home soon?" The question came out suddenly.

Dan's face instantly fell. "Oh… she's… no longer with us."

"By the Outsider, I'm sorry…"

"It's alright. She's happier that way." He replied, trying very hard not to cry.

Within me flares a rare pang of sympathy.

It's so… jarringly alien.

My mental relapse into Granny Rags has numbed me.

I barely remember how to confront human emotions anymore.

The room is quiet again.

He suddenly tensed. As if expecting disaster, he climbed on the bed and squinted out the window.

"Oh shit. My old man's getting home. Gotta go." With that, he lept from the bed and hurried downstairs, his footsteps thumping in fear with his heart.

I turned to the window myself.

A large, lumbering silhouette speedwalking brokenly towards the house with a bottle in his right hand. As the light of the lamppost revealed him, he was hideous.

Hideous as a bastard's bastard who just left a chain gang.

Heavy frame; strong, scarred arms and a shaggy mug. With him approaching staggeredly to the front porch, I felt uncharacteristically angry. What a waste he is.

A loud crashing noise can be heard as he stumbled through the door and onto the kitchen table, spilling everything on its surface to the floor.

This will not be pretty.

* * *

The door peeked open, before springing forth as the father crashed through like a unruly horse loose on an open field.

"Ergh…arghshshphlll…" He collapsed onto the kitchen table like a dead trout on a tray. Dan quickly scurried over to help the man up.

"Leave me alone you fuckwit!" Screamed the old man as he doubled over to unload a huge portion of his drunken celebration on the floor.

"How's the… uh… the festival pa?" Dan asked squirmingly.

"Fucking boring. Parade's shit, as always. Same old." He stops to mometarily hold in a vomit as Dan hurries back with a cup of water. "Lost three fucking cockfighting matches. Cost me 50 lien for my trouble! 'Might be getting' bad luck. Used to win big at this shit. Biggest problem of the fucking night? No chicks. YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN? NO WHORES FOR ME TO FUCK!"

Dan was but a statue.

"Maybe I have ta' go to tha' local whorehouse for my trouble! And I know you'd be too much of a pussy to go. Ain't tha' right?!"

The young man was silent. His father was always like this

"Get me dinner. Then I can get back to the fuckin' whorehouse down the corner. NOW!"

Dan shot into the air as he scurried to the kitchen as quickly as he can. He can still hear his father out of earshot: "Good-for-nothing lil' shit…"

Dan ran through the cupboards and shelves for food, but found nothing. He had not expected his father's return. The bowl of soup for Vera was the last bit of food in the house. He might have to go grocery shopping later…

The father reclined uncomfortably on the chair as his spinning head threatened another vomiting spree. Other than the thought of him at the town festival, going to town on any poor wench he could get his hands on. Sweet young flesh…

Suddenly, he smelled something.

Something sweet, like a bundle of spring dahlias.

Something… mysterious.

Something… he can't wait to sink his teeth in.

His next words chilled Dan to his core.

"Is that a *URP* woman I smell?"

"N…n..no… There's no…wo…" Dan stuttered out as his father slowly stood up.

"No what?"

"No…"

"NO WHAT?!" His voice boomed throughout the house and echoed to the side of the hill.

"I don't have anything upstairs! I swear!" Dan raises his arms to his face.

"Upstairs, eh?" His father's voice is low and dangerous. "We'll see about that."

He starts to stumble towards the stairs.

"No…NO DON'T…" screamed Dan as he clambered to stop the old man…

Only for him to be flung on to the kitchen cupboards with a resounding crash.

As the old man's staggering steps rumble along the old oak staircase, Dan, laying uselessly crumpled on the floor, can only beg Vera for forgiveness.

* * *

I lay down on my bed, my face buried in the pillow. I heard everything. He's coming up any minute now.

Good.

He'll think a docile, sweet young nymph awaits him innocently in this room.

Even better.

His footsteps reverberate through the creaky stairs and pour into my ears like heavy boulders.

My heart is pounding in fear and anticipation.

And anger.

Bastards like him bring back terrible memories.

Switchblade gripped tightly in my balling fists, I wait in sheer apprehension.

Any time now you ugly basta...

CRASH!

I instinctively recoiled back to the wall behind me, dagger still clutched in my hand.

As the door swung open with a loud bang, stood the bear of a man, heavily intoxicated and sex-crazed.

"Hello *URP* beautifulllll..." He slurs as he tries to stand upright.

My knife is still raised, aimed at his face.  
"What goooooood wind... blew you heeere?" His dull, low voice borders on a broken growl as he slowly closes the distance.

The Outsider's Mark on my hand begins to glow, as if it sensed his hostility. Good.

Now I just need him to get close.

"Come to papa, dearieee." He lunged at me.

NOW!

 _Rashu grhaya..._

Time slows... to a stop.

On my face widened a smile.

One that Granny Rags so always proudly wore.

I approach him slowly and made sure he stopped moving.

With all my might, I dragged the knife across his exposed throat. He had the neck of a bull, and apparently, the veins of one. Blood quickly sprayed out, then stopped, frozen in time.

I moved safely out of the way.

10 seconds remaining.

I laughed to myself.

I'm so angry that I'm actually enjoying this. Every second.

5.

4.

3.

2.

1.

CRASH.

Before I knew it, he had flung himself over the bed with the momentum, through the window, and all the way down to the hood of the automobile waiting below.

Too surprised to even scream.

Dead as a doornail.

...

...

...

I killed someone.

I've claimed the life of a human being.

In a way that Granny Rags would be proud.

I slowly slumped to the floor in realization.

Why did I...

No. Think about it.

But if I hadn't, he forced himself onto me what he would have to so many others who had the misfortune of encountering him.

I recalled Dan's words about his late mother. She was "happier that way".

Good for her.

I slowly made my way towards the door and down the stairs.

He had made his way, perhaps from the wreck that was the kitchen area, to the bottom of the steps where he sat miserably.

"Gah! You... you scared me!" He didn't see me coming.

"Sorry." I sat down, huddled next to him.

"Did you...k...ki..."

"Yeah. He's on the trunk of your car. Smashed. Sorry about that." I was shocked at how deathly calm I was.

"Y...ye...yeah. Thanks." Dan sputtered out, before he fell into a fit of hysterics.

I simply remained silent as he vented his griefs.

He eventually finished, and turn to me with an strange expression. One upset and... relieved?

"By the way, how... did you..."

"Survive?"

"Yeah."

"He charged at me. I evaded and he flew out of the window."

"O...oh." He sounded as relieved as if the giant Atlas had thrown down the World from his shoulders.

"Thank you." He suddenly enveloped me with his arms and wept into my shoulders. I've never had a hug that isn't rough, forced, loveless or all three.  
We remained attached for a time.

A rare peaceful silence overtakes the house.

"Remember when you talked about your mother?" I broke the silence.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Did your father... hurt her?"

"Y...yes. He abused her. Verbally and physically. She died one day. He told me that she had a heart attack. I knew he was lying because I...I saw bottles of s...sleeping pills at the bottom of her bed. She o...overdosed. Fuck." He answered, as he tried to hold back his tears.

It was too close to home.

My family, the Dubhghoill house, is an ailing house, on the slippery slope down the high-class ladder. Once a well-known name in the city of Wynnedown, our fortunes plummeted due to recession and poor business management. Life in the Morleyan high society was rough. My father, Lord Dubhghoill, was a frail and drug-ridden man. He couldn't care less what happened to me as he wasted away the rest of his pathetic life with the imported sirpoppy extract that he constantly pumped into his veins.

My mother was a different story.

A fanatical social climber, she only saw me as an asset. With her husband in shambles, she tried to pawn me to any sons of all the dukes, earls, barons, government officials... the like. As mother-in-law to a scion of a powerful noble house, it could bring her millions worth of coin in bridewealth. With my beauty, the dowry was always lowered in our favor. Party after party, banquet after banquet, I had to show my face to the young heirs, lustful and youthful beasts all, as my mother conversed with their indifferent parents.

All those stories about young men fighting each other over my favor?

My mother turned them down _because their bride token offerings were too low._

That one time Emperor Alexy Olaskir I asked for my hand?

It was later discovered that he did so behind the back of his Queen Mother and his supposed betrothed, Lady Oleanna Bonnehugh, Duchess of Arran. He resented the original arrangement by his late father, Emperor Vasily Olaskir III, thus tried to wed himself another queen on his own. We barely evaded a nationwide scandal.

The farce continued for years.

Finally, my mother sought the hand of Preston Moray, scion to one of the most prestigious families in Morley, for what I might say, _a right price_. Not long after my marriage, with millions worth of coin poured into her accounts, she scurried off to the Alban countryside for the rest of her fame-seeking life. Private clubs, racehorses, and more banquets... the lot. I never saw her ever since.

Preston, born and bred in the same society that spurned the good in one's hearts for the virtues of selfishness, was a completely different story.

Preston had great patience in me. He always tried to peel off layers of that long-erected pessimism I have built for myself, so long coping in the toxic environment that was the Morleyan high society. Through the ups and downs, perhaps he got to me. And then the sea trip, and... Everything started to go downhill. My institutionalization, a second plunge down the social ladder, and ...his murder... A tragedy, lost in time and space.

To this day, I always blamed myself for making him work so...

Hard. For me.

Now I'm here. A place Outsider-knows-where, with a squandered past life and perhaps a chance to start anew. And an equal chance to fail again.

Sitting next to a broken shell of a man, whose fragile manhood held on constantly being beaten into the dirt by his abusive father, now broke next to me, a fragile woman.

Ironic.

"I...I understand." I blurted.

"Y...you do?"

"Yeah."

Suddenly, I felt two thin arms encircle me and pull me closer - a gesture of utmost trust.

"Thank you." He said simply.

I melted into the hug. I need the warmth. The closeness. All this despair, all this agony. I want it all to go away. Just this moment. Feeling his left hand trail into my hair and his right...

...wait.

It's down my back and trailing lower.

Oh no.

My mind trails back to the olden days. The days at the parties. The banquets...

The hands, the way they, those boys drag me into the corners... with the ferocity of monsters... forcing themselves upon me...

No... I can't... I can't go back...

No...

No...

Don't...don't do it...

My right hand, clutching something, swung forward.

NO!

When I jerked myself away from him, to the other end of the stairs, I saw the switchblade, buried hilt-deep in his neck.

...

...

...

He slowly staggers backwards, eyes trained on me with an empty stare and stumbles on his back.

Blood. Blood everywhere.

So much blood.

...

I screamed.

* * *

 **Note:**

 **Vera Moray's abilities (active abilities only):**

 **Blink: Teleport in all directions (active)**

 **Clear Vision: See through walls if stood close enough to, and can detect runes and bone charms (not yet unlocked)**

 **Bend Time: Freeze time for 10 seconds (active)**

 **Windblast: Blast back groups of foes, break doors, and deflect projectiles (not yet unlocked)**

 **Apprentice: Magically bond with a single disciple, granting them unique powers to your own (not yet unlocked)**

 **Pull: Pull objects and people toward the user (not yet unlocked)**

 **Whispers: Hear the voices of animals and Grimm (active)**

* * *

 **AN: Sorry. Writer's block. Story's still alive. Sorry if I disappoint.**


	4. Vera Moray (IV)

The dull orange sun hangs lowly over the skyline. After the festivities of the two days ago, the town of Greenknoll Bay was bustling with its normal jubilance.

"Haven't seen much of Ol' Rudy these days," a young drunk remarked, sprawled on some boxes. He, along with other rambunctious youngsters of the town sat or stood propped up at the corner of the post office, obviously drained by the shenanigans of yesterday.

"He's here two days ago alright. First thing he did was he disappeared into the lady funhouse down tha' street." Another hoodlum filled in the blanks.

"Sure, but he didn't like, stay there for the night, right? Much less sev'ral nights? Whatever a brute he's, he'll still be kicked out," a young street rat added.

"Maybe he stayed out. He sure as hell don't wanna come home to tha' little wimp of 'is. There's, like a hotel across tha' road or some'n," another urchin spoke up.

"Usually this time 'e comes down the Crooked Bard for drinks. Not seeing im' here... is unheard of." A young beggar wondered.

"What d' 'ya think happened to im'?" The original drunk pondered, sending them into a chorus of IDKs.

"We'll have ta' tell someone... this is getting fuckin' weird..." he then declared, silencing the posse.

* * *

I absentmindedly dragged my hands down my face, creating a bloody thin trail of bloody tears, past my already dried tears down my already bloody face.

The questions of "why" had ran its course. Reality has bent over sideways to horror.

But one more time can't hurt. Can it?

Why?  
I screamed. I howled. I cried. For the entire night. I care not who eavesdrops.

It's been several days since I killed the both of them.

My mind still rings with the whiplash.

From the moment I buried the knife into his neck.

I did someone a favor and immediately undid the favor.

I am next to Dan, his surprise registering on his face, but not horror himself.

But betrayal.

Seeing him like that, I can't even close his eyes.

I wish I could take it all back. He did not deserve this.

"My my. I would say "what a mess you've made" but that would be disingenious." A sweet, chilling voice rings through the empty house.

I stiffened.

It's _her_.

The black-eyed blonde.

Still on my bottom, I backed away quickly, sliding and slipping on the splashes of blood until I hit a wall.

"I wonder if you have chosen these two as guinea pigs for your new gifts."

"No, NO NO! I DID NOT! IT WAS AN ACCIDE…" I clutched my head as I tried to rebuke her accusation.

"Don't defend yourself to me. Defend yourself to your own conscience. You know what you did, and only you get to judge your rights and wrongs. I am merely a cosmic pedestrian." She responded, with a wave of her hand.

I fell silent. In a sense, she was right.

"You did kill the old brute, didn't you." She knelt down at my eye-level.

"Y…Yes."

"With my gifts?"

This I can't lie to her.

"Yes."

"Then I say naught but congratulations. I watched the whole thing from beginning to end. Basic, but satisfactory."

I shudder at the playful heartlessness of her words. My hands slowly ball into fists. Say whatever she wants about that dead bastard, but Dan...

"But the boy... that was absolutely unnecessary. I saw the anguish in your eyes, the despair of his death, and the regret of your actions. Whatever your intentions are, did not involve his death. Am I wrong?"

I folded my knees into my chest and faintly shook my head. I hoped she saw me shaking.

"Living or dead, he has led a miserable life. Freedom would be at the very least, relief to his soul."

I shifted miserably, mulling on her words.

"There are only two possible paths for him: prolonged suffering or painful demise. I'm sure you follow."

She sits down, legs folded.

"If anything - the comfort you offered him during his final hour - would've been enough."

I look up, my eyes with tears.

She looks me in the eye.

""I shouldn't have killed him. He deserved better." It's a viewpoint. A valid one. One as narrow as looking through a keyhole."

She leans closer.

"The material world, and the by-product of linear time that runs with it, have infinite paths. Infinite paths, branching into even more paths that inflict their inherent causality on conscious, rational, intelligent beings such as you. Do not think, for once, that there is but one way things go. They don't."

My hands fall to the side in acceptance. She continues:

"Do not despair in what could've been. Despair only when you have time like mine. And you don't."

She slowly rises to her feet as she helps me up.

"The sun is going down. There's been talk in the town downhill - I can almost hear whispers of witchcraft and black magic in the air. A small commune like this, a disappearance, much less two, is very easily noticeable. The local Town Guard has been alerted. You must clean up and flee."

I looked at her, baffled. The town has rumors of what? What more contradiction and dangers can this world throw at me?

She winks at me and turns.

"Cheerio."

"WAI..."

She disappears.

Shit.

They're coming.

For me.

I began to pace around the house.

Panic. I'm stuck here. I don't know where to go.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I stilled.

I have to do something.

Quick.

* * *

"Rudolph? You mean that goddamn drunk?" Castleton, the local Town Guard captain gawked at the the drunks. " Strange now you ask. Haven't seen the bastard myself since the festival."

The drunks are not convinced.

"Thing is, officer, he's gone fer like, two days and we dunno where. We though' e' might've stayed at the brothels, but e' would ge' kicked out. Maybe he's home but e' can't stand his son. Ya know how it goes."

The senior officer leaned back on his chair, folding his fingers on his neatly trimmed goatee.

"He's... a presence in our town, but his disappearance will cause considerable concerns. Right. I and 4 other officers come by the hill house tonight. Question the son. He might know where he went. If the man's home, it'll be much trouble taking him in."

He turns to his lieutenant. "Contact the local Designate office, if we dial back for anything strange."

"Let us all hope this no more than a gaffe..."

* * *

As I haul the old bastard's body into the dumpster in the front porch, my mind is ringing.

They're coming.

They're coming.

They're coming.

They're coming.

Fuck.

Shut up.

Calm down. Calm yourself.

But I can't.

I can't do anything now. They on their way up the hill.

The hill itself is nearly treeless, and the cliffs nearby plunge several hundred feet below into the sea.

Even if I run, they'd spot me several hundred meters away from the crime scene.

If I let them get in, they'll kill me.

 _Fuck._

I hurried back into the house.

What did the Outsider say? Witchcraft and black magic. Right.

This world despises the Outsider, the Void and its offerings. Great.

Why does this world, and the last, make enemies out of me when I could've proven myself otherwise?

I suddenly had a chill on my spine. One that I used to have I dumped my victims in the soup tub.

One that I used to have as Granny Rags.

If anyone of this world aims to make an enemy of me, blood they shall receive.

This is my house.

I briskly walked over to a still-dead Dan and winced as I pulled the switchblade from his bloody neck. I offered a silent prayer for his soul and moved on. I moved him into the toilet.

I shut all the doors and windows, leaving only the front door slightly open.

If only I could give them a sign... A sign of warning...

Material scattered around the house. They can be of use.

My mind bristled with plans on how to deal with the... invaders.

Yes. I have it.

With my fingers in the puddle of blood and eyeing the wall that will be the canvas... I ponder on what sign I'll leave them...

As I lay my trap...

* * *

 **1.5 hours later...**

The jeep slowly pulls up at the hillside house. The engines roar to a stop as the five officers disembark the vehicle.

The wind blows ominously. The porch lamp of the house blinkers non-stop, sending shivers up the officers' spines.

"Sure is windy tonight," noted the short officer, Kemp.

"Look! The front porch lamp is on! Oh... shit. There's a broken window on the second floor," muttered the tall officer, McCoin.

"Let's pop the trunk. I don't got a good feeling about this...", declared the portly officer, Meadows.

"We wait and see and act accordingly. No need for unnecessary escalation." The captain, the bearded Castleton, commanded. "But pop the trunk nontheless. If things get out of hand, we get the ladder and the shotguns. For now, we're in standby."

The tall grass swishes like a ghost cricket's mating call. The sea, unruly and wild. The waves crash hardly into the shore, scraping on the rocks and the sand with grating noises that made Castleton's hair stand on end.

"What's so serious about grabbing an old drunk or questioning his wimp son?", snided the lean officer, Fitzel. He immediately quieted after Castleton gave him "the look".

"Haskell, go scout the house. Report if anything's fishy. Keep us updated." The eponymous young gun of a trooper pulled out his dust pistol and approached the house slowly.

 **(OST - Michael Small - Klute - 04 Phone Call Play Back)**

With an fearful stride and gun in hand, Trooper Haskell begins his investigation.

He slowly approached the porch, but noticed something. Something horrendous.

The hood of the family car, crushed beyond recognition. Blood splattering on the misshapen hood and onto the dirt. He then saw a trail of red, brokenly linking the car to the dumpster on the house's far right side.

He shook as he reached for his scroll on walkie-talkie mode and reported: "Sir, traces of blood on hood of Sharpe household car. Hood of car severly damaged, perhaps due to high collision after dismounting from higher left window. Blood trail leading to nearby dumpster. Over. I will now search the dumpster. Over."

Castleton silently nodded. "Duly noted. Continue investigation, over."

Nature is still restless. It's loud, unbearingly so. It weaves, it grows, it ensnares, it takes. It scared him, ever since he was a drooling child.

Haskell slowly inched closer to the dumpster. He reached for his flashlight, clicked it on, and shone it on the heavy container.

He was not prepared for this.

Inside the dumpster, was the broken, bent body of Rudolph Sharpe. Throat slit.

 **(music end)**

He screamed.

Letting go of the dumpster lid, he stumbled back and fell on his bony behind. Fumbling for his scroll, he struggled to give his report.

"S...sir, confirmed one Rudolph Sharpe, d...deceased in the dumpster! I repeat, Rudolph Sharpe, deceased is in the dumpster! O...over!"  
"Shit!" Castleton mentally cursed. "Pull back to unit and await orders! Over and out!" He barked.

Kemp, McCoin, Fitzel and Meadows swarmed their superior. Castleton reeled as he gave the bad news.

"Sharpe Senior's dead. Haskell found 'im in the dumpster."

This sent an invisible wave of tension through the group.

"Did Haskell say he was flung from a window...?", questioned Kemp.

"Yes, from the second floor. Fall killed him, apparently."

"How do we know Sharpe didn't throw himself out?" asked Fitzel.

"He can be drunk, yes, but I suspect foul play."

Just then Haskell came galloping back, horror written on his face. "SIR!"

Castleton abruptly looked up. "WHAT? Report!"

"He's d...dead. I saw it."

"Details, trooper. Details.", facepalmed McCoin.

"I dunno much, sir. I didn't get a good look at the body but I noticed..."

"Noticed WHAT, Haskell?", exclaimed the captain.

"I...think I saw his throat slit. Pretty deep cut too."

"That changes everything.", groaned Kemp.

"This constitutes murder. Son's out of the question. He's way too frail. Someone else did it and somehow had the strength to throw Rudolph through that second floor window. Fucking hell." Castleton pinched his eyebrows in exasperation.

Another violent crash of waves, like whips on bare skin, interrupted their worries.

"Kemp, try to contact the Town Guard office. See if they can send backup and the Designates." Castleton ordered as the stout trooper began dialing the local Town Guard number.

"SHIT!" Kemp angrily put the scroll back in his shoulder compartment. "Sorry sir, no signal."

"Quite common 'round these parts," remarked Meadows.

"I guess we're on our own now sir," clicked Fitzel.

"Kemp, stay here and try to contact the office again. If you can't, take the jeep and ride back to town. Inform the lieutenant and bring reinforcements. Do not call the Designates yet. We do not want a bunch of unhinged zealots on our case unless otherwise. You understand?"

Kemp nodded. Castleton turned to his other officers.

"Meadows, Fitzel, you two take the ladder, go around back for any windows. This house doesn't have a backdoor, remember that. McCoin and I will enter by the front door. Haskell, stay outside. Alert me if anyone comes." He then took out a dust shotgun from the pile in the jeep boot. "Take one."

The troopers nodded slowly and took one for themselves.

*SNAP*

They all quickly turned around to see that the house, once dimming with little lights, completely shut off, rendering the entire cliffside blind.

"Godsdamn..."

After a long pause, Castleton gave the command. "Move in, men."

The troopers, excluding Kemp, followed their captain posthaste.

* * *

This is my house.

All of you,

 **STAY OUT.**

* * *

 **Note: Watch _Straw Dogs_ (1971) before reading the next chapter. Especially the final 20 minutes.**


End file.
